My aunt held Sera's hand, while my father took mine and led us toward the wedding hall.
As we drew closer, I began to hear laughter. The place was loud and lively.
Before we entered the hall, we met my uncle along the way. In the end, he was the one who took Sera's hand and led her forward. It was also part of the tradition. The father leads the bride or groom, while the mother holds the father's other hand.
Finally, we stepped inside.
The heat of the room struck my face at once. The air carried the scent of food mixed with other unfamiliar smells.
The hall was enormous. The guests stood along both sides of the room, forming something like a ceremonial path.
It felt almost like a passage of honour.
From the moment we entered through the doors, our direction was obvious. Straight ahead stood a raised platform. Near it were several luxurious chairs reserved for the most important figures.
And immediately, I saw the three elders seated there.
Today, all of them were present.
There were five figures in total.
My father.
My uncle.
And the other three elders.
Nadal Everblood.
Constantine Blackrose.
Heinz Moonlight.
The three of them had been speaking quietly, but the moment we entered, the noise of the hall faded at once.
It seemed they had also invited the ten rising talents of the sect. Among them, I recognised Elias.
He stood with a group of young men. His hair was cut short and sharp, and his red eyes burned with a fierce spirit.
The moment he looked toward Sera, I noticed a quiet anger rising in his gaze.
But when his eyes shifted to me, a strange and complicated expression crossed his face.
I couldn't interpret that look.
What truly caught my attention, however, was the girl standing beside him.
The most beautiful girl in the sect—by the unanimous agreement of every young man.
Anastasia Everblood.
She was Elias's sister, ranked as the sixth talent of the sect.
Unlike her brother, her features were purely feminine. Her figure was alluring and full of life.
Her hair was thick and cascading, strands flowing freely with soft waves that highlighted its golden colour.
Her beauty was different from Sera's.
Sera carried a quiet, mysterious grace.
Anastasia, on the other hand, belonged to the mature kind of beauty.
But what truly set her apart were her eyes.
Violet eyes that hinted at a faint trace of sorrow.
With that gaze alone, Anastasia had captured the hearts of most of the young men in the sect.
Including me, once.
Our eyes met instantly.
A radiant smile spread across her face, dazzling enough to enchant almost everyone in the hall.
But the opposite happened to me.
All I saw in that smile was hidden mockery.
My feelings for her had died after that incident at the academy—an incident that had pushed me into months of isolation and quiet depression.
Even so, I noticed other familiar faces in the crowd, including my friend Sartre.
I simply nodded to them in greeting. There was no time for more, though I was genuinely glad to see Sartre again after such a long separation.
Although my uncle Klein was considered the most handsome man in the sect, he had a rival.
The man from whom Anastasia had inherited all her beauty.
The oldest elder of the clan.
And the most beloved.
Nadal Everblood.
He was the elder who had fought in more wars than anyone else in the sect.
He was known as the Immortal, a title born from his enemies' despair at ever seeing him die.
Though he was not the strongest among the elders, he had no rival when it came to surviving battles.
The man who never knew the meaning of the impossible.
That was another title given to him.
No one could even count how many times he had walked away alive from battles where survival was considered impossible.
And yet, he always returned alive.
He was the first elder we passed.
He offered us a calm smile before returning to his drink.
The second elder we approached was Heinz Moonlight.
The youngest of the elders, and a prodigious talent who had carved his name into the era of the new Abyss.
He was known by the title The Bee, considered the most dangerous assassin among the six levels.
He carried another nickname as well.
The Libertine.
Mostly because of his endless affairs.
His appearance was the opposite of what one might expect from an assassin. He had a large, powerful build and a rugged, masculine face—hardly the image of a playful womaniser.
He merely gave my father a brief nod before we walked past him.
Then we reached the final elder.
A chill crept through my body.
My legs wanted to run from the hall as fast as lightning, driven by the aura surrounding that man.
A bloody aura.
One filled with terrifying malice.
How many people had he killed to possess such a presence?
There were even rumours—supported by witnesses—that he had once tried to eat a sixth-level demonic lord.
Such an act was forbidden everywhere, whether in the Abyss or beyond.
Attempting to consume any intelligent creature was not only taboo. It was also dangerous to the mind itself.
The flesh of supernatural beings carried psychological imprints.
Serpent of the Abyss.
Ancient Venom.
The Blood-Mad One.
Malice Incarnate.
All those titles—and more—belonged to a single elder.
Constantine Blackrose.
He was the second-oldest elder after Nadal.
No enemy had ever faced him without leaving the encounter heavily wounded.
Anyone who fought him suffered greatly under his poisons and his insidious methods.
Yet his appearance suggested weakness.
Sunken eyes. Deep wrinkles. A long white beard, thin rather than full.
His moustache was cut very short.
He looked like nothing more than a harmless old man one might pass on the street.
And yet within the clan, only two people had ever defeated him.
Even though they had walked away with catastrophic injuries.
Despite his sinister reputation, he was also considered the greatest alchemist in the sect.
He did not move even slightly when we passed by him.
In fact, no one had even expected him to attend the wedding.
Finally, after what felt like a dreadful walk of only a few meters, we reached the platform where the marriage ritual would take place.
A figure sat in the centre of an old rug, surrounded by strange skulls and tools filled with mysterious liquids.
This was the sect's shaman.
The one responsible for its rituals.
The noise in the hall faded strangely, and I could hear the wind striking the building outside.
The shaman was a woman with a frightening face.
The horror did not come from her presence alone, but from her deformities.
Without them, she might not have been ugly at all.
One of her lips was cut near the line of her nose.
Her tongue was split down the middle like a serpent's.
Her ears had been mutilated in a way that made them look like jagged blades, even the earlobes torn apart.
And her nails—long and curved—looked like claws.
She gestured for us to sit before her.
And, strangely enough, her voice was very gentle.
A stark contrast to her appearance.
Then she asked,
"Theodore Karl Silver… do you accept Serafina Klein von Seiker?"
I swallowed, steadying my voice as the tension tightened my throat. Then I raised my head.
And answered calmly.
"I accept Serafina Klein von Seiker as my wife."
"I accept Serafina Klein von Seiker as my wife."
"I accept Serafina Klein von Seiker as my wife."